Killer Z

by Miller, Greg L.

  “I need you to watch the raft,” Steve tells William.

  “You can count on me,” William says with a salute.

  “Maybe William should go with you instead,” Mark suggests.

  “You afraid?” Steve asks.

  “All this talk about zombies and the infected is getting to me. Wasn’t this a homeless shelter?”

  “Back in 2008,” William says.

  “It looks empty enough, librarian. You’ll be fine with me,” Steve says and directs Mark out of the raft.

  Lifting his body through the broken second story window is hard. Mark almost slips but Steve catches him by the arm. The floor of the Grand Hall sags under an inch of water. Wood paneling and paint peals from shabby old walls. He jumps seeing his refection in a mirror at the base of the steps.

  “Steve, this place looks like a dump.”

  Muffled voices drift from the upper floors.

  “Probably just some survivors,” Steve says.

  Mark follows Steve up a flight of decaying steps. The voices are more audible on the third floor.

  “There’s nothing here, bro,” a gruff male says.

  Another male voice adds, “My Zs are wearing off, let’s go.”

  Steve stumbles over a filthy blanket and falls to his knees. Mark ducks into the stairwell as four men with guns whip around. M2 fixes Steve with a crazed and deadly look.

  “Where did he come from?” M2 asks.

  Multiple gun pops echo down the hall. Steve howls in pain. Mark freezes, uncertain if he should reach for the gun in the backpack. Loud thudding comes from the hallway.

  “Run,” Steve gargles.

  Mark runs down the stairs. The thugs riddle Steve’s body with bullets and follow down the steps, hooting and hollering like teenagers. Mark trips over a tool box stenciled with the city are engineering logo and a dead engineer. He’s uncertain how they missed the fuses and grabs a couple. Next, he fishes out a flashlight. Thinking fast, he balances the flashlight on the tool box and shines the light at the mirror. The armed men stop on the steps and shoot the mirror.

  Mark launches himself through the broken window and falls into the raft.

  William blinks in confusion, “What…?”

  “They shot Steve,” Mark yells all wild eyed.

  “Who shot Steve?”

  Mark explains what happened as William steers the raft to the Old Post Office. Oretha waits under one of the two remaining arches and pulls them in.

  “Where’s Steve?” Oretha asks.

  “Sorry, he got gunned down at the Franklin School.”

  “No! Who gunned him down?”

  Mark hands over the fuses and says, “We were walking up the stairs and theses guys just shot him.”

  “Everyone is dying today,” Oretha murmurs, shaking his head.

  They enter the lobby and are checked once more for bites. The woman leading the prayer group earlier hands him a cup of coffee and a sandwich. Mark sits at a table and eats slowly, his stomach churning. The coffee settles his nerves. His mind replays last moments with his dad and Irina.

  “Hey,” Mark says to an officer. “You guys need any more help? I can’t stand sitting here.”

  A passing maintenance worker carrying a firemen’s axe and maul says, “I can use your help, chief.”

  “Mark, my name’s Mark.”

  “Lucas,” the burly man answers with a curt nod. “You got a flashlight?”

  “No.”

  “It’s your lucky day. What do you do Mark?” Lucas says and gives him a flashlight and the burdensome maul.

  Mark says, “I work at the Library of Congress.”

  A tall, thin man joins them.

  “Nice to meet you librarian, this here is Manny. Manny is a shift manager at one of the pavilion restaurants. Manny, this is the Librarian.”

  “It’s Mark.”

  “Sure,” Manny replies.

  “We’re on search and rescue,” Lucas says.

  “Sounds fun,” Mark answers.

  They climb many stairs and pass through several hallways.

  “So you help people check out books?” Lucas asks, making small talk as they walk.

  “No, I work with the scholars within the Library of Congress, in the Kluge Center.”

  “Sorry, never heard of it. You know, this building is pretty sound but who knows anymore with all the water and shaking, so be careful.”

  Lucas directs them to a manmade hole in the wall leading to the clock tower. The main tower entrance is blocked by a pile of collapsed beams and bricks. They duck into the hole and enter a conference room.

  “This used to be the conference room for General Motors. My dad was a big shot for them. He used to screw secretaries in that office over there,” Lucas says.

  They exit into a side hallway. Historical still shots are scattered on the floor. At the end of the hall they come to a stairwell littered with the bodies of men and woman who died trying to flee.

  “This maintenance hall leads to the clock tower. When the fire alarms sounded everyone panicked and many were trampled,” Lucas says.

  Mark steps over the stomped and broken bodies. At the top of the stairs they reach a wooden door blocked by debris.

  “Is anyone in here?” Lucas shouts and taps the axe to the wall.

  Muffled voices can faintly be heard.

  They move aside chunks of fallen concrete and take turns swinging the axe and maul until the door breaks down.

  “We’re rescued!” a teenager squeaks.

  “How many are you?” Lucas asks.

  “Seven including myself,” the teen answers. “I told you we would be rescued, Angela.”

  An attractive blonde in a navy skirt suit says, “You were right. Are the trains operating to Silver Springs?”

  “The city is covered in ocean,” Lucas says grimly.

  Her face drops and Mark feels for her.

  “Here, let’s get you downstairs. There’s coffee and sandwiches,” Mark says as he offers her his hand. “It’ll be alright.”

  “Stop flirting librarian. We need to get back to the others,” Lucas says.

  24

  “C’mon!” Larry slurs and yanks Karen to her feet. “I saw helicopters on the roof when we were on the street.”

  “But I’m tired,” Karen says.

  Karen brushes away silky brown hair from around tired catlike eyes. They finally located a stairwell leading to the roof.

  “Karen, we have to stay ahead of the pack or we’ll drown with the losers.”

  “I don’t care without my husband.”

  Karen stops on the stairs. Exit signs cast a soft red glow on her. He fishes out a bottle of booze.

  “Damn, you’re hot,” he whispers not realizing she can hear him.

  Karen’s green eyes narrow and voice drips with venom, “I’m not a piece of ass for you to look at.”

  “With it being our last day on earth…”

  “Fuck you.”

  Flinching, he asks, “You’re not interested?”

  “You’re a pig.”

  “You don’t deserve shit, bitch!” he bellows, not just at her but every girl who ever shot him down.

  Karen tries pushing past him. The alcohol makes him ten feet tall and indestructible. Every aspect of her petite body turns him on. He grabs for her.

  “What makes you think I’m interested in a forty year old, potbellied, booze drinking cop?” She yells, shoving him.

  Hatred for her truths opens a black abyss of negative memories and emotions. He roughly pushes her against the wall.

  “Please let me go,” she sobs. “I don’t want to get raped.”

  Her words slam home and he cringes. Rage becomes embarrassment and shame.

  “You think I want to rape you?”

  “Help me!” She yells to anyone, desperate.

  He shoves her, unable to deal with her view of him. The shove sends her stumbling. She tries catching her balance but falls. He drunkenly reaches out but it’s
too late. Her shriek fills the stairwell, followed by a sickening crunch.

  “Fuck. Karen?”

  Massive guilt floods him as he looks at her crumpled form. Her neck is twisted at an unnatural angle. He runs to the roof. Armed soldiers with assault rifles eye him as he bursts through the door. The roof is a sea of survivors, hospital staff, and soldiers.

  “Secure the door and check him for bites,” a marine orders.

  A soldier checks Larry and wrinkles his nose in disgust.

  “Sergeant, we got a drunk, but no bites.”

  The stone faced sergeant nods and redirects his attention to the helicopters.

  “Private Laramie, I want these choppers in the air, ASAP!”

  “Yes, sir,” another marine answers smartly. “What about the cop, sir? We are a few men short.”

  The sergeant glances at Larry and says, “Put him in Iron Horse.”

  “Do I have a choice?” Larry asks.

  “Nope,” Laramie replies.

  Larry is hustled into a beat-up helicopter.

  “Can you guys drop me off in Maryland?” Larry asks.

  “We lost Maryland to the Zs a few hours ago,” Laramie says. “Do you know that Iron Horse is a CH-53E Marine helicopter? Not many people get to ride in the helicopter that took out Bin Laden.”

  “No shit, never would have guessed. Why do you guys need me?”

  “We’re searching for survivors.”

  Four marines survey Larry with unimpressed eyes. He focuses on a pinup of a blonde with large boobs near the cockpit, feeling inferior.

  “Man, you reek of booze,” one of the marines says.

  “It was my day off.”

  “Why are you in uniform?”

  Blushing, he focuses on a decal of an iron fist clutching something in a yellow circle near the pinup girl.

  “I can’t believe this shit,” the marine grumbles. “Didn’t someone get a memo this is an assault chopper? We should be fighting the Zs!”

  “Give it a break, Albertson,” Laramie says. “Until a proper chain of command is restored, we’re fucked.”

  “I heard the entire east coast is lost,” a third marine says.

  “It’s just a matter of time before we quarantine,” Laramie says.

  “You really think we’ll nuke our own cities?” another asks.

  Larry looks up alarmed.

  “Yes, I do.”

  Silence fills the chopper. A haze of dust and smoke hangs over the city. The helicopter dips low and zips over partially submerged buildings.

  “Hey,” one of the marines in the cockpit says to Larry. “Push that yellow button.”

  Albertson takes point and slides open the helicopter’s door. The marine takes position on a rope ladder. Larry lowers the safety cable.

  “Okay, bring them up,” Laramie says after five minutes.

  Larry presses the green button and up comes two disheveled and terrified obese woman and the marine.

  “Murderer!” the younger woman shouts as she crawls into the helicopter. The older woman follows her in shocked silence.

  Laramie looks at the other marine and gets a sharp nod in return. Laramie nods back in understanding and tries putting a comforting hand on the younger woman’s shoulder.

  “You need to understand, he was infected.”

  “You’re all murderous bastards,” she snarls.

  “We’re doing our job,” Laramie replies.

  “But you shot him!” the younger girl shrills.

  “Infected with what?” Larry asks as the woman sobs hysterically.

  “With zombie juice man,” Albertson answers with a brittle laugh.

  The pilot calls out, “The big wave is one minute away. Hold on.”

  The soldiers bristle as the helicopter flies upwards. Washington D.C. is lost within a smoky haze. The helicopter loses visual of the tsunami and stays in the clouds. After twenty minutes they return to the hospital. Hundreds of people rush to the helicopter but marines on the roof hold them back.

  “Lose the cargo, we’re heading out again,” the pilot barks.

  The two women are directed to the roof and Larry squeaks, “I don’t want to leave.”

  “You? “You’re a disgrace to all police officers.” Laramie says in disgust. “Sober up.”

  Larry is speechless and exits the helicopter. Iron Bird lifts and zips off into the smog. Shamed, he flees into the hospital.

  25

  Black and white stripes splash boldly across the canvas. Seth looks at the painting in awe as if it has a secret knowledge while Andrew yawns. He’s sick of the National Art Gallery. The others are sleeping off the Zs throughout the building having already raided the small gallery café and gift shop for whatever they could scrounge.

  “Have the peons returned?” Seth asks.

  “Only some,” Andrew says. “I don’t get you, man.”

  “No, you wouldn’t understand art.”

  “Seth, how are we supposed to take the city when we’re stuck here?”

  “Patience,” Seth murmurs and strokes his stubbly chin. “I love how the black and white stripes amplify the orange in the middle.”

  “This sucks. I’m bored.”

  “Try painting.”

  “The Zs are making me stir crazy. How many paintings have you drawn on, hundreds?”

  Seth turns and picks up his paint brush again. He strokes a black line onto George Washington’s portrait and says, “I’m creating a message that will be remembered. You can see a little of everyone from George Washington to Marylyn Monroe in these paintings.”

  “Whatever. Ol’ Georgie-porgie’s portrait will be doing the backstroke soon enough.”

  “Screw you.”

  “I’m taking a leak,” Andrew says and wanders out of the gallery.

  Groaning fills the restroom. He expects a homeless man jerking it and kicks open a stall door. Andrew gasps as a zombie looks at him. He runs into the next stall and slams the door shut. Heart racing, he wonders if what he saw was real.

  “Am I hallucinating? Fuck Killer Z.”

  Fists slam into the door of his stall. With a trembling hand he reaches for his gun. The zombie moans and Andrew points his gun at the door. A gore covered face appears below the door. Andrew stomps on its head and throws open the door.

  Backing away, he fires twice into the zombie’s chest with a pop pop, but the monster sits up with a groan.

  “What kind of fucking hallucination is this?”

  Backing into the sink, he shoots at the creature again. The corpse sits up and Andrew runs out of the bathroom and down the hallway.

  “Something’s wrong,” Andrew says to Seth, panting. “I was attacked by a zombie!”

  “Oh, you mean a Z?”

  “A Z? Shit man, we gotta get out of here.”

  “We will in time.”

  “A zombie tried killing me in the bathroom and you want to paint?”

  “You’re high.” Seth holds out a handful Zs. “Take these and forget about it.”

  Shaking, Andrew takes the pills. In minutes relaxation starts to take over him. His innate sense of fight and flight is shattered. He sits on a stool and watches Seth paint.

  26

  A new wave, a bigger wave, smacks into the hospital. The ocean is washing away the city. Juliet’s survival sense screams to stay on the roof but her heart wants to find her father. A wave punches into an overpass, which bends like plastic and scatters cars like pebbles into the sea. Numbly, she backs away from the edge of the roof. Pixel obediently follows.

  “Harry, I can’t take it anymore.”

  “Things will be alright,” Harry replies.

  “Either my dad is alright or he’s dead, but I need to know.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Deep down she’s comforted Harry is around. She glances over her shoulder and sees Larry get booted from a marine helicopter.

  “You know it doesn’t look like the cop’s luck is any better. Pixel, go to Larry.”
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  Pixel whines.

  “Whatever stupid dog, then stay with us.”

  Pixel wags her tail and softly barks. They cut through the crowd to the stairwell door.

  “When did you play chess with my dad?”

  Every day in DuPont Circle, but he stopped showing a week ago.”

  “What do you mean he stopped showing?” she asks.

  They walk down the steps.

  “Riley said something bad was happening here and went missing. Where in the hospital does he work?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We’ll figure it out.”

  “I can’t imagine being torn apart limb by limb. When I was a kid I used to dream about being covered with mud and being eaten by zombies …”

  Karen’s corpse halts her rant. Her face holds a frozen expression of fear and anger. Pixel whines and runs into the ward.

  “Wasn’t Karen with Larry?”

  “Yeah, she was. Let’s check the nurse’s station for a work schedule.”

  “Do you think he pushed her?”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Anything is possible with a drunken ass.”

  Juliet studies a floor map near the elevator as Harry searches the nurses’ station. She can’t make out anything on the map. Pixel barks at something or someone in the pediatric unit.

  Juliet walks after the dog. Beyond the nursery windows are children sleeping peacefully. Every room shows children sleeping. She follows the dogs’ barking and is perplexed as to why the children weren’t evacuated. Pixel barks at a nurse holding an injured wrist.

  “Pixel, come here!”

  The nurse holds a syringe over a crib. Two little fists wave in the air.

  “Get this filthy beast away from me,” Nurse Natalie howls.

  “What are you doing?” Juliet asks.

  “I’m finishing my job.”

  Juliet snatches the back of Pixels collar and orders, “Pixel, down!”

  The dog rears against her grip.

  “Pixel, stop it.”

  The canine settles on all fours. Natalie warily eyes the dog.

  “Natalie, calm down,” Juliet says after reading the nurses nametag.